I love the south and all its’ charms; fantastic weather, scenic beauty and most importantly, if you can subdue it, southerners will fry it and eat it! Strange…whenever I’m reminded of the south, a familiar song plays in my head. I’m sure you know it too…
“I wish I was in a land of cotton.
Old times there were not forgotten
Look away! Look away! Look away, Dixie land!”
The land of cotton; birthplace of the necessary fibers to make comfortable underpants. History owes a great deal of gratitude to Eli Whitney and his innovative creation; the cotton gin. Where would we be, if old Eli shunned his calling to be a key component in the industrial revolution and pursued his other passion…making homemade, salt-water taffy? Sure, we’d have a delicious treat to enjoy while ambling the county fairgrounds but an important by-product of the cotton gin would never have been devoloped. Of course, I speak of women’s feminine protection.
I think we’re all adults and can handle a mature discussion about women and their nudie parts…hee hee…nudie parts!!! My experience with this topic started in grammar school. One afternoon, all the fifth and sixth grade girls were called to the gym for a “special assembly.” No boys allowed. We guys knew they were discussing something about sex and being that we were 10 years old, creepy and fascinated with nudity, it was our duty to try and catch a glimpse of what was going on inside. One by one, we slowly walked by the gym doors, necks craned, trying to peek through a crack and hopefully see some skin. Rumor had it, Dave Olsen saw some upper thigh and Wally Casey swears he either saw a boob or a bee-hive. It was never determined what he saw but we lauded his efforts nonetheless, as almost seeing a naked boob was more than any of us had ever witnessed.
Now I’m married and possess a mature, comfortable knowledge of feminine products. Many people have their own meaning behind the letters, P.M.S., however I have my own breakdown of those three, nasty letters; “P”ick up “M”y “S”upplies. Although I know the whole gist of what these things do, it never fails to boggle my mind when I head down the feminine hygiene aisle of the local drugstore. The sheer magnitude of varying products is dumbfounding.
Let’s analyze the different sizes. There’s your mini, maxi, light days, heavy days, Days of Thunder, kill your husband days, Linda Blair look-a-like day and on and on. Take the mini…it looks like it sounds, not too intimidating, easy to manage. The maxi resembles something you’d find protecting football players from bone-jarring impacts. Then there’s the “Cowabunga dude” size, which has all the qualities of a cotton surfboard. Finally, the “Colossus”, which for all practical purposes, looks like a harnessed bedroll, strapped to the back of a Union soldier.
If the differing sizes aren’t enough to make your head spin, there’s the “upgrades” you can add to personalize your supplies. They come scented, unscented, with adhesive strips, tape, rip chords, pulleys, floral patterns, pictures of famous mathematicians and lastly, wings.
Finally, you have the absorbance factor. “Absorbent” seems to be the bottom of the barrel and something to be shied away from when making your decision. “Super-Absorbent” has the word “super” in it and conveys something amazing is going on or a comic book super-hero is somehow involved in the process. ALWAYS buy products associated with super-heroes!
Next, and not very well-known, is the “De-humidifier” absorbency, which will, by the very nature of its name, suck all the moisture from the air in any room. It may also cause others close by to experience nose bleeds or a severe case of cotton mouth. And, by prescription only, one can purchase the “Decimator 4000”, which if worn while swimming, will completely drain small ponds or lower the water in lakes to levels not conducive, or safe mind you, for boating, motorized water sports or rowdy chicken fights.
So now, when I shop for feminine products, the same song plays in my head, only the words are altered just a bit. It goes something like this,
“I find myself in an aisle of cotton.
Time spent there, I wish forgotten!
Look away! Look away! Look away, Maxi-Land!!!”